Florence’s Stupendous Spinster’s Society Page 18

  He went inside and asked for Mr. Tilman himself. The bookstore clerk showed him the way. They started up a stairway that had been placed against the wall. Three doors were on the next floor, able to be seen from the main floor. The clerk showed Rollo to the last one and knocked before announcing him.

  Tilman gave the call for Rollo to enter, and he did so, closing the door behind him.

  “King Kerry.” Mr. Tilman stood and smiled. “I know why you’ve come.” He was a short, thin man with balding gray hair, but his blue eyes seemed to be alert and full of information.

  Rollo lifted a brow. “How do you know why I’m here?”

  Tilman reached into a drawer and pulled out the damned magazine. “You want to know who wrote the story.”

  “I do.” Rollo moved toward him. “I know how the paper business works, but I swear I will use discretion.”

  Tilman waved him off. “You’re wasting your time. Anyone could have written the story. Even my own paper did after Babbler’s unveiling. There was no personal information given. It was simply a retelling of information everyone always knew.”

  He was right. The paper could have been written by anyone in London. His stomach clenched as he tried to come to grips with what he should have already known. The paper hadn’t even needed to use one of their own writers for something so basic and profound.

  Tilman spoke again. “What you are really looking for is the artist who drew you on the cover. That is a different situation altogether.”

  Rollo stared at him. “Do you know the artist?”

  “No, but she does fine work and if you find her, you tell her that Tilman’s is hiring and pays well.” Rollo stored that information away for later and focused on the man before him. Tilman sat down. “I will tell you who controls what goes on the cover of the magazine, but that will cost you.”

  “Anything.”

  Tilman smiled. “Excellent. Her name is Lady Louisa Paul.”

  “Lady Paul?” Rollo knew her. “What does she have to do with anything?”

  “She controls the whole paper. Nothing touches the cover of that book without her say so.” Tilman’s eyes narrowed. “Go to her. Knock on her door. Frighten her a little.”

  Rollo lifted a brow and stated the obvious. “You don’t like her.”

  “She stole Babbler in a way.” Tilman looked away as his anger grew.

  Rollo nodded. “Well, if it is your wish that I give a woman a little fright as payment for your information, I’ll be more than glad to do so.”

  Tilman looked back at him and his anger fled. “Oh no, that’s not the payment I seek.” Then he smiled, and Rollo knew he’d been utterly trapped.

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  .

  When Florence arrived at the bookshop, she was surprised to see the number of people who’d arrived and tried to recall if any new books had been published to cause such a scene. She did notice the great number of women present, outnumbering the few men by a wide margin, the men looking grim and out of sorts while the girls blushed and laughed with glee.

  She saw two women rush from the door and float down the sidewalk as though they were walking on air, completely indifferent to the weather as they each waved a paper in the air.

  “What’s happening at the bookstore?” Mary asked.

  “I don’t know,” Elipha said. “Why don’t we go inside and see?” She smiled sweetly, and Florence moved closer to help maneuver the girls around the still growing crowd and into a bookshop. The temperature greatly increased with the sheer number of patrons. Florence noticed that nearly everyone was holding a paper and the name on a woman’s lips captured her attention.

  “I was told Mr. Kerry is just as handsome as his sketch,” a woman with blond hair and bright blue eyes said to her darker-haired companion. “I sent a maid to get me a novel and she was wise enough to abandon the reason I’d sent her out to tell me that he was here.”

  The dark-haired woman opened her newspaper, and Florence blinked as she witnessed the woman kiss it. Startled, she turned to find Elipha’s eyes wide as she stared straight ahead.

  “Oh, dear,” Elipha whispered.

  “What’s the matter?” Florence looked in the same direction as her lady and had to stand on her toes in order to see over a few heads. A woman walked away from a table and Florence gasped at the sight of Rollo sitting there, wearing a tight smile as he spoke to the next woman who arrived. He took her paper before dipping a pen into an inkwell and scrolling his name across the page.

  He was autographing something. Dread filled Florence. There could only be one thing worth the signature of a man like him. He was not like the Greeks who signed their signatures on their scrolls and art pieces, but thanks to her, his face would not easily be forgotten.

  “That’s the last one!” a woman behind her shouted. “I was reaching for it.” She was very young and slightly built, wearing the clothes of a working-class woman. From her dark uniform and apron with a ribbon hanging from its pocket, Florence guessed her to be a seamstress.

  Elipha held a paper in her hand and glared down at the other woman before turning away and moving toward Florence. “Florence, look at this.”

  Florence looked down and her throat closed. “Oh, no.” The paper was dated back to a few days prior but had also run the same image from Babbler. Rollo’s eyes, eyes she’d memorized, stared back at her. She handed the paper to Elipha, who quickly handed it to the woman who’d shouted at her.

  The seamstress looked surprised. “Thank you.”

  Elipha shrugged. Neither she nor Florence needed a paper when they knew the man who sat behind the table.

  “Florence.”

  She jumped and found Rollo no longer sitting behind the table but standing at her side with a weary smile. His dark eyes held hers like a gentle caress. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Florence could feel her bones melting under his gaze, but fear kept her steady. She wondered how glad he would be at seeing her if he knew that she’d been the one to draw his likeness and that it was she who was causing him trouble. Aware that they were now the center of attention, she hid her trembling and emotions. “Is there any way I can help you, sir?”

  His smile widened as though knowing what she was doing, trying to distance them from one another. She was glad that he didn’t touch her when he spoke. “Yes, there is. You can help form the line.”

  “I want to help, Uncle Rollo,” Lily said, coming to Florence’s side. All the brothers were official uncles to the girls.

  “Me, too.” Mary smiled, her brown eyes wide with affection. They were not immune to Rollo’s good charms either.

  Rollo smiled at them both. “Well, of course, you can help me if your cousin says it all right.”

  The girls turned to Elipha, pleading.

  “All right, but stay close to me.”

  Rollo held out a hand to each girl, leaving Florence and Elipha to follow behind them. The crowd parted as they moved and as Florence had been asked to do, she began to form some sort of line that began to circle around the store and allowed those outside to come in. Mary and Lily took the papers from next women in line and gave them to their uncle before handing them back to the smiling women. With them standing between Rollo and his admirers, the line began to move quicker.

  The few times Florence looked Rollo’s way, their gazes caught so she abandoned looking at him at all and instead focused on her task. When the line seemed to finally find its own organization, Florence moved to stand to the side of Rollo and next to Elipha to oversee the girls, which allowed Florence to also watch Rollo but stopped him from looking at her and drawing attention to her presence at all.

  Though his face had been tight before he’d known of her arrival, she noticed that after a while his features began to relax and the smiles became r
eal. She wondered if some measure of the attention had any effect on his struggle with feeling abandoned by his parents. She knew that no amount of adoration from the public could ever replace the love that he deserved from his parents, but maybe the admirers before him replaced some of the loneliness.

  Florence looked over the crowd of smiling faces and her body tightened at the sight of a couple in line. She recognized Abigail, the courtesan from her sister’s brothel, right before she saw her companion. Lord Lawton’s starry blue eyes glittered as they saw Florence and swept her body in a way that made her blush. Her heart rocked in her chest, and she sent up one prayer after another that he wouldn’t expose her.

  “Do you know Lord Lawton?” Elipha asked, her eyes moving from Lawton to Florence.

  “You know him?” Florence asked.

  “Oh, yes. That’s Anthony Giles. He is one of London’s most notorious rakes. I’ve been warned repeatedly to stay away from him,” Elipha whispered. “Our fathers don’t like one another.”

  Anthony Giles. Florence had heard the name before, whispered amongst other maids at parties. He was a rake, a wretched wicked one indeed.

  When he and Abigail made their way to the front of the line, she averted her gaze but was very aware of Lawton’s eyes on her.

  Rollo turned around to look at her wearily before turning back to Lawton. “Anthony, what brings you here? Don’t tell me you plan to hang my face on your wall.”

  Florence sucked in a breath. Rollo, who’d called Lord Lawton by his first name, obviously knew the man.

  Lawton laughed as he looked at Rollo. “Not a chance, Rollo. This is for my sister. She’s in Bath at the moment, but she’d readily see me flogged if I didn’t get you to sign it for her.”

  Rollo smiled at him and signed Abigail’s. “Well, we wouldn’t want to make your sister upset.”

  Lawton nodded. “No man does if he knows what’s good for him.” His eyes move to Florence before going to Elipha. “Lady Elipha,” he all but purred.

  Elipha blushed and looked away. “My lord.”

  Abigail took her paper from Lily just as Mary gave Lord Lawton’s to Rollo.

  Abigail looked at her and winked and Florence smiled at Abigail, already knowing Abigail would keep her secret. However, when she looked over, she found Lawton to be staring at her again and the smile he gave her was sinister. It made her heart fall out. He was going to expose her. Her knees locked, and she prayed she’d pass out and soon. She could hear her pulse beating in her ears.

  Lily handed Lawton back his paper. Lawton turned to walk away, but before Florence could relax, he stopped, spun, and caught her eyes again before holding out the paper toward her.

  Florence froze.

  Rollo looked between them again, and his smile fell away before he spoke to Lawton. “I thought you said that copy was for your sister.”

  “It is,” Lawton didn’t take his eyes off Florence for a second. “But the picture is not complete without the artist’s signature.”

  Rollo frowned and looked at Florence. “What is he talking about?”

  Elipha turned to Florence. “How does Lord Lawton know you drew that picture?”

  Florence felt all the blood drain from her face as Rollo turned to stare at her. She probably could have found a way to dispute Lawton’s words, but with Elipha confirming them, there was no way out.

  “You drew this?” Rollo snatched the paper from Lawton’s hand and faced her, his black eyes glittering with heat, and not the sort that made Florence feel warm. This heat left her cold as stone.

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  .

  Rollo was silent as he helped Florence into his coach before climbing in behind her and shutting the door. After seeing the truth in Florence’s eyes, along with her guilt, it had only taken him moments to find the owner to tell him that he was done signing papers before dragging Florence out of the store and away from every eye so that he could have the conversation that needed to be had.

  No one had stopped him. Elipha had only whispered something in Florence’s ear before narrowing her eyes at Rollo. Lawton and his latest courtesan had been gone before he’d returned to the table to collect Florence.

  She’d lied to him and while he’d never asked her if she’d been the artist, she’d known about his search and could have shared the truth with him at any moment of their relationship. He wondered why she hadn’t, wondered why she’d allowed him to remain in ignorance if not to laugh at his expense.

  Or even worse. Perhaps she’d not only drawn the picture but written the article as well. Perhaps she was using him to make a profit and wondered if the Babbler piece was just the beginning. He’d shared so much with her and now she knew things that he’d told very few others. The thought that she would commit an act so cold didn’t seem to align with the woman he’d come to know… the woman he’d come to love, yet the proof was on the paper.

  His heart pounded in his chest, and his body shook with a coolness that had nothing to do with the weather.

  She stared at him with wide eyes, sitting on the other side of the carriage and chewing on her lip. “Rollo.”

  He cut her off with a hand, not ready to hear anything she had to say as he recalled all the conversations they’d had about the drawing. “Not now, Florence. I want you to think before you respond, because lying to me would be very bad.”

  She leaned away and closed her eyes. “Rollo, please. You must listen.”

  “I have listened. I’ve listened to you many times, but you never told me the truth.” He waited until her eyes found his before he went on. “I trusted you.”

  She gasped and covered her face with her hands. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He was sorry as well. Sorry for himself. Sorry he’d ever entered the game he’d started. He’d done what he could to convince her that he was asking for nothing more than friendship, all the while wishing to get her in bed the first moment he could. He understood the hypocrisy of his anger, since neither had entered the friendship with complete honesty. This was what he deserved.

  She dropped her hands and looked out the window. Her face was strained red with stress. He took everything about her in so that he’d remember the face of betrayal. She didn’t look at him as she spoke. “May I at least ask where we are going?”

  “To the Valdeston Mansion.”

  She looked surprised. “Why?”

  He sighed. “Because, I’ll need the help of my brothers in order to find out what to do with you.” Since more than a few of them would be at the Nashwood London around this time, it was the perfect place to take her, because he’d need their aid if Florence decided to expose more information about him to the papers. He would also need their help, since he’d more than likely go easy on her because of his feelings. Even now, he still loved her. The others would be stronger than him, think clearer than he could. “You’ll find out what it is to lie to not only one powerful man but ten.”

  Her eyes widened. “Rollo, I’ve done nothing wrong. You have to let me explain.”

  The carriage came to a stop, and he moved to leave it but spared her a look before he did. “I will allow you to explain yourself and then we will decide what will become of you.” He grabbed her arm and felt the defiant tug of strength before she calmed enough to follow him out.

  Once she was outside the carriage, she pulled herself from his grasp and straightened her spine, but he also noticed that she could not hold her surprise at seeing the mansion. Valdeston’s house was a piece of art that under any other circumstance he would have enjoyed showing her.

  But such a thing was not to happen.

  “We’ll take the side entrance,” he told her before leading the way.

  “I would expect nothing more, since I’m nothing more than a servant.”

  He turned aroun
d, surprised by her words for many reasons. She no longer looked full of guilt. Instead, anger burned in her eyes, turning them into a tempting honey glow.

  She was more than a servant. So much more. But he didn’t tell her that. He didn’t tell her that the main entrance led to the gentlemen’s club and that he didn’t want to walk a woman through it. In her current maid uniform, she’d not be out of place, but she’d not been a maid to him since the day they’d met.

  “Come on.” He turned back around and led them through the house to the second and then third floor before entering the room he’d made his own. She followed him and said, “This is a bedchamber.”

  He closed the door behind her and walked over to the decanter he kept on the table in the corner of the room. “Yes, it’s my bedchamber. Take all the notes you’ll need for your next article.” He kept his back to her as he poured, the splash of liquid hitting glass the only sound.

  He took a sip and turned to find her staring at the ceiling with wonder in her eyes and her lips slightly parted. He knew what the ceiling looked like, had stared at it countless times, but now he couldn’t help but simply look at her.

  Beautiful. There was nothing else to call her, but underneath those soft features laid a snake. He slammed the glass down to get her attention.

  She jumped and glared at him.

  “Speak,” he told her.

  “I’m not a dog,” she snapped. “And why would you care to hear anything I have to say anyway? You’ve already found me guilty and are ready to sentence me.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the table. “Are you saying you didn’t draw the picture?”

  “I did.”

  “Then you’re guilty by your own confession.”